


House

by orphan_account



Series: Shelter [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 23:44:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20554658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Prequel for Orphanage. Life before they go to the Orphanage.





	House

The room was warm, the floor covered in a beige carpet. In the middle were two rows of tombs, each marked with combinations ranging from F829658 - B694869. There were eight in total. On the smooth stone top a cured arch of glass with pipes spilling out of it, a valve on the end of each. There was a mysterious liquid that it was floating in. The object in question was a mangy red colour that borderlined a burnt orange. It had a trail and a large oval blob. Attached to it was one of the tubes and it was floating around, although practically still. The man with long golden almost ginger hair was standing, watching the particular number. The room was void for life apart from him as the test fetus’. He had a pitiful look in his blue eyes. He fiddled with a syringe in his fingers.

Life continued around the chambers and occasionally people would come in and remove the excretions and waste products that the tubes and then replace the mush of nutrients that would cause the creatures to grow. The man spent the longest in the chamber every day, watching his artistic work come to life as bodies began to form, ears forming, arms, legs, tails and wings. He’d carefully changed the genetic structure code and alleles to change the natural bodily features of these humans. They were young children now, it’d been several years he’d been coming down and noting progress.

F829658 stared across the fluid, head slightly tilted as he floated. His muscles barely worked and fluffy blonde hair had grown long enough to reach his shoulders, a few strands passing within his slight sometimes. He breathed through a mask attached to his face. He was used to the dark when the lights were off and then when they were on and the outsiders were in the facility. He wondered where they left to when they went. Was there something outside the chambers? He knew nothing outside of the room, of his tank. He could barely move his muscles apart from when he wanted to move in the substance. He’d noticed those around him didn’t move. They just had a dazed look, eyes watching nothing. They didn’t have the fascination he did. He’d compared himself to the workers outside; some had dark strands on their heads, like the room when the light was off. He looked at his skin and his body, a pearly white. He’d felt himself, his soft locks, and noticed that his ears were curved on the side of his head rather than above and pointed with fur like his neighbouring test tube buddy.

One minute he was drifting, the next he was falling. His limbs flimsily flailed in the air as his legs collapsed underneath him and strong sensations fell to his stomach of a grave dread. He stared into the abyss above him, lungs gasping as the tube feeding him his life was torn away. The next thing he knew a wicked throbbing was striking through his head and shoulders as he landed on the floor. His jaw twisted into a shape of morbid curiosity on these new sensations. He had to gasp for life, a new cold setting into his throat as his brain figured out how to breath by himself for the first time.

The man lifted him. He could see him properly - it was weird without the liquid moving between them and creating a magnifying effect with the glass. He stared back, blinking sometimes. His body was in shock. He was shaking, bare and realising what air felt like, beating his soaked skin and hair. His thoughts ebbed away and his body hung limp.

His eyes fluttered open and it went from black to grey stone. His legs were shaking, weak. He felt like his knees were bucking. He tried to move his body like he would in the water, only to feel a searing rubbing at his wrists, finding both were above his head and tied with a mottled brown twisted thing. He was covered by a long white gown which left his neck and collarbone visible but trailed down to his ankles. He raised his head one blink, unknown to the concept of time. One blink he was standing there and he could barely comprehend it. His body screamed at him, but he was too drained to acknowledge a thing.

Time became life; life became routine. For him, routine was waking up staring into blue eyes, lifting his arms and allowing them to be connected to the ceiling, watching the man walk away and close the stonework that created a gap. Then he would stand until his legs were shaking, then the man would return with a liquid so similar to the one he used to live in and something soft that would go down his throat - he’d choked trying to swallow at first - then put something between his eyelids that caused black slits in his visions and stop his eyelids from drooping. He would stare until water made it all blurry, soaking into his gown and mouth. Three slashes were delivered to his back to fix his posture so he was straight - he barely felt them now. They were just stings and more liquid, this one stickier from the rest as it drew a line down his back. Finally, when the man returned for a third time, he would be let down for his arms to rest. He was allowed to close his eyes after this and he only remembered stone.

Then his routine would restart.

One day a new man came. He was taken out. This man looked similar to the other one, but his eyes were darker and he had a braid in his hair. His skin was slightly paler and he had tougher skin. He raised his hands, but instead they were grabbed. He stumbled forward as he was pushed out of the door. The man crouched down, “Run” he said, voice cold and calculating.

F829658’s eyes widened in surprise and he looked confused. Words - something he’d learn but never used himself. It was impossible surrounded and the man never spoke to him when he was alone in the freezing stone. He tripped over his gown as he started forward, stumbling. He didn’t look back at the new man, just followed his orders as trained. He didn’t know where he was going as the air swiftly started pelting around him. His sight was blurry, he merely followed his instincts and turned corners, outside, felt things burying themselves deep into his feet and designing a ruby-coloured home to belong in.

He tumbled down as he reached a place, the sinking feeling he had felt when he was released coming to dance within him again. He stared at his hands, the crimson looks like a natural part of his skin in it’s dried state. His skin was ragged along his knees, left behind on the concrete. He was aware of the singing of gusts around him, taunting him. He was shaking rapidly and he let out a whimper as he waited expectantly for the hits he would get for shivering. But nothing happened. He realised how utterly lone he was now as he curled down in the middle of a road.

His eyes opened, meeting brown eyes: they weren’t familiar. She had a smile and short blonde hair. And.. things under her neck. What were they? “Hello! What’s your name. Are you homeless?” She used words too. Many words. He opened his mouth, then closed it, “Name.. F829658” he whispered quietly, barely audible.

“That’s no name,” she was frowning now, he noted. That was bad. Frowning meant upset and upset was bad. He lowered his head as she tapped her chin, “I know! How do you like the name Matthew?” he looked up to see her wide smile and offered a wary one back. There was a new spark in his heart as he accepted the girl’s hand. Matthew. F829658. Was there really that much of a difference? Well, one was shorter he guessed.. He was pulled up and taken away. He didn’t remember any of the journey, just the black tarmac; it wasn’t like the stone he was used to.

A door opened - he realised this one was a wooden brown colour and went backwards rather than side to side. There was a strange texture under his feet. It was like how he imagined cropped grass to feel like. He raised his head, eyes widening. The girl was humming now - it sounded beautiful as he was led inside. “Pancakes?” she asked, glancing back at him, “And I’ll run a bath for you!” he wanted to tell her it was okay not to run around after him, that was not his purpose, but he wasn’t sure how.

* * *

He learnt the girls name was Katya. She taught him English and Ukrainian - apparently that was her home country. He didn’t want to leave the house. He’d been with her for a short time to him, but now he could see the two stages: where you could see and where you couldn’t. He learnt about clocks, about time. Katya was much bigger than him, but she said he would over take her in height. He didn’t really want to. He discovered pancakes and maple syrup - the first meal of his newfound freedom. The heat of a bath turning his skin a pretty pink rather than a dark red. He felt salty tears run down his cheek; he was overwhelmed from the outside world.

“Matthew?” he heard the whisper and bolted up from the safe confines of his bed, “Mhm, Katya?” he responded tiredly. She let out an adoring aww as he wiped the sleep from his eyes, “It’s New Years Eve. We should look at the fireworks.” she offered with a smile. He nodded and got up, putting on some clothes he had been bought. He didn’t put on a coat, although Katya did. He took her hand and they headed off into the darkness.

The bright colours illuminated the sky, bouncing off the clouds and booming into spirals like confetti with a planned order. The streets they had picked were quiet and dark. Matthew had his mouth slightly open as he took in the stunning shine of technology. 

Soon, they were joined by two strangers. Both were wearing large coats. Both had masks covering their faces. Matthew immediately felt a freezing in his veins as the blood stilled before beating rapidly. Something was telling him to run again, the mans words in his head.

Then they spoke.  
  
“The boy isn’t human, hand him over so we can look after him, Ms Chernenko. You’re being followed and they’ll kill you for being a sympathiser.” Matthew felt the hand tighten around his own. Then Katya merely gave her signature grin, “I think we’ll be okay” while tossing her coat open to bring apart the poppers. He was pushed away as the one with a red mask plunged forward, trying to take his other hand. “Run” he whispered.

“Yes, why don’t you run, Rabbit?” a new voice spoke, clapping slowly and laughing, “Good evening, Katya” he smiled, blonde hair falling across his cheeks. There was a low snarl from one of the masked. Matthew tried to tug Katya’s hand as she spoke, “Francis! How have you been?” he was terrified; this man was dangerous. He could tell. His instincts screamed to run away again.

He didn’t register the next second as the black coat figure darted away and the man followed him. He didn’t register the red masked ladys hood falling back to reveal two brown ponytails and red ribbons as she hugged him close. He only registered his caretakers body falling, his older sister collapsing to the floor and a broth of crimson choking her body as it consumed her throat and forced its way out of her mouth. He did the next best thing and screamed.

* * *

“This is my new brother?” a finger was poking his cheek. He straight up subconsciously as he awoke. “Ka..Katya..” he whispered, voice hoarse and dry as he choked back the strain. “Nah! I’m Trigger. Albion found me too. I’m gonna be your little brother from now on! They told me your names gonna be Gust.”  
“Matthew. Katya named me Matthew”   
“‘Cuz it’s too dangerous to have normal names, you’re not supposed to tell me that! It’s okay though ‘cuz I won’t out you to Grandpa. Come play with me”   
The voice that had started the danger last night, “He probably hates me right now because I couldn’t save Katya. Damn Bonnefoy - making this hell. It’s lucky Tropic wasn’t killed too and this one survived. Now leave the poor boy alone to sleep”

* * *

"Hello, sweetie," the gently voice was above him. His eyes blinked open to see Albion as he continued the sentence, "It's time for training."  
Gust blearily nodded and straightened up. Sleeping sideways, on a bed, was still new and strange to him, so he used pillows to prop himself up as he rested. Now he stood up and followed Albion out. He'd learnt to forgive the man who had become like a big brother or father figure to him. He smiled softly as they approached a door, excited. He'd get sweet treats if he complied in here. 

He ran up to Grampa, hugging him, "Hello Sir!" he chirped happily, pulling his best cute face. He didn't get shouted at when talked to here.

* * *

He set the sniper up on the balcony opposite, Albion beside him. He aimed through the cross circle, letting it settle on the girl. His finger shook as he pulled the trigger back. The shot was silence, but he felt the backlash. Albion clasped a hand on his shoulder, “Katya has been avenged now.” he nodded. Francis’ girlfriend was dead. He met eye contact with the angry blonde a building away, a mask now covering his face, white as snow. “Yes. She has.”

“We can have pancakes when we get home - he won’t come after us now,” Albion chuckled. Gust sighed, staring at the girl. She’d been innocent; not involved. This was now all just a sick game they were paid to participate in and a chessboard of revenge. What if his brothers were next? He sighed, not dwelling on it as he followed Albion out, head down.


End file.
